


Getting Her Back

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Spike seeks Tara’s help, Willow battles her withdrawal, and a mysterious spirit helps them all. R





	Getting Her Back

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).  
> Summary: Spike seeks Tara’s help, Willow battles her withdrawal, and a mysterious spirit helps them all.
> 
> Notes: I call this a challenge non-response. I was intrigued by the thought of Buffy finding out what Spike had really been like in life, but I couldn’t leave “Wrecked” alone. Anyway, this is what I wish would have happened after “Wrecked”. By the way, should anyone actually try looking for my character of Marco Cattalano, try a different fan-fiction universe.
> 
> Rating: R, for my first try at a non-descriptive, soppy love scene.

Spike looked up at Buffy’s window from his tree, the place he’d spent a good six months, just watching. He refused to believe as Buffy had, that their night of passion had been a mistake; and he’d meant it when he said he was through being her whipping boy.

But there was something he had to do.

Good night, Buffy. He walked off in search of Red’s girl; he was sure she would want to help with what he had in mind.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The specter moved through the house at 1630 Revello Drive, unseen and unheard by its occupants. It knelt by the bed of the brunette, her arm encased in plaster, silently giving her support.

Next it visited the redhead, shivering and sweating in her sleep, a reminder of how deeply addicted to magic she was. It gently brushed a hand over her brow in an attempt to comfort, even though she could not feel it.

Finally, it came into the bedroom of the Slayer, who was just nodding off with the cross still clutched in her hand.

“If you only knew,” it whispered as she fell asleep. “If you could only see how much he loves you.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It took some doing, but Spike found Tara’s dorm room, knocking loudly. It was three a.m.; he had to be back in his crypt soon to avoid getting a tan.

And since he now knew what it was like making love to the Slayer, he had no intention to do so.

After a few minutes, Tara opened the door, disheveled and bleary-eyed. “Spike?” she asked, her voice sleepy.

“Hey, Wicca.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry t’ wake y’ so early.”

The blonde witch rubbed at her eyes, blinking. “What’s the matter? You never bothered to look for me before.” She hid a yawn behind her hand.

“Yeah, well, Red’s never been in this much trouble before.”

Tara’s eyes snapped open. “Why? What’s wrong? What happened?”

The vampire shushed her as her voice became louder and more panicked. “Easy, pet, I’ll tell y’ the whole story if you’ll …” He trailed off, hoping she’d get the hint.

She did. “Come in, Spike.”

He stepped over the threshold and looked around. With the lamp on the bedside table, the doorframe and windows were decorated with strings of little Christmas lights. The top of the dresser was cluttered with makeup, a jewelry box, candles, and other assorted magical paraphernalia.

Tara shut the door, drawing her robe tighter about her body. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Spike told her everything he’d learned that night: Willow going to Rack, taking Dawn with her, losing control of a car, conjuring a demon, and finally collapsing into tears. Tara listened in horror. She’d heard of Rack, mostly as a warlock to be avoided. She never imagined that Willow would go to a black arts dealer, or hurt Dawn because of her addiction.

“Is Dawn okay?”

“Doctor in the ER gave ’er somethin’ fer the pain, an’ her arm’s gonna be in a cast for a while. And from the look she gave Willow, she’s not gonna forgive her anytime soon.”

“And—and Willow?” she asked around the lump in her throat.

“Told the Slayer she’s givin’ up magic.” He shook his bleached head. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she had the DT’s after a power surge like that.”

Tara swallowed her tears. She still loved Willow so much, but she had depended entirely too much on magic. Until now. “Why’re you telling me this? To torment me?”

His eyes widened. “No I bloody well did not! I told y’ ’cause I think Rack still has a hold over her. One way a black arts dealer like him gets repeat customers is by keeping a line sunk int’ them. All he has t’ do is tug on it enough an’ Red’ll come back beggin’ for a fix.” He shrugged. “The only way I know t’ beat this kind of magic is with magic, and I can’t very well ask Willow. Y’ can help me get Rack well-enough knackered that he’ll either stop or take his business outta Sunnyhell.”

She eyed him with a bit of suspicion. “Why do you want to help Willow?”

A multitude of reasons ran through his head, memories of how kind she’d been to him in the past, how she’d helped the gang with her powers the 147 days Buffy had been gone. The biggest, and most important, reason loomed in his thoughts, so he went with it. “’Cause if she’s in pain, the Slayer’s in pain, an’ I can’t take that. I’ll do everything I have t’, t’ see that it doesn’t happen again.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Please, Tara, help me.”

It was the first time Spike had truly called her by name, and it surprised her. She considered him for a moment, wondering how it could have fit into his amoral mind scheme. She finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll help you. But I’ll need to research, get some supplies.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll start, you finish.” He took a leather-bound book from a shelf and settled himself on the floor at the foot of her bed.

Despite everything, Tara couldn’t help by smile at his enthusiasm. “Um, Spike, you’re the vampire, not me,” she reminded him. “I still have to sleep.”

Spike chuckled in embarrassment. “Right, sorry.” He got up and tossed the book to the shelf again. “Come ’round t’ my place in the afternoon, say fourish? May have somethin’ for y’ by then.”

She nodded. “Done.”

He was about to leave when he leapt to her side and pecked a cool kiss on her cheek. “Thanks.” Then he was out the door and gone.

She put and hand to her cheek in surprise. Then a grin she hadn’t felt since the breakup split her face. With any luck, she was going to have her Willow back.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Spike took the spare key to the Magic Box from its hiding place. Giles and Anya had told him of it to keep him from picking the lock again. Now he had to get in to see if he could find something in the “not for sale” section. He never once felt or saw a pair of ghostly eyes watching him with amusement, or the hands that subtly pushed the right leather-bound tomes into his hands.

Spike chose the most likely candidates and left a note for Anya saying that he had them. He felt the daylight chase him to his crypt, though sunrise was still an hour away.

He fought off sleep for a few more hours as he studied each book in greater detail, making notes and lists of ingredients in a small spiral notebook. He finally nodded off in his chair, breezes ruffling pages, and he dreamed of Buffy.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Buffy studied Dawn in her bed. The Slayer no longer remembered what it had been like being an only child; she only remembered arguing with, taking care of, and loving her little sister.

The younger Summers girl stirred, her blue eyes fluttering open and a smile flitting across her lips. “Morning,” she murmured.

“Morning.” Buffy gently brushed strands of hair away from Dawn’s face. “How are you feeling?”

Dawn shrugged. “Not sure. What’s a hangover feel like?”

Buffy smiled. “Not the same thing, Dawnie. I’m gonna make waffles and chocolate. You want?”

“Marshmallows?” she asked hopefully.

Buffy nodded. “Marshmallows.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m going to ask Willow if she wants, too.”

Dawn’s eyes darkened. “Why?” she asked in a voice of chipped ice. “Why is she even still here?”

“Dawn, like it or not, Willow needs help. She knows that everything she’s done is wrong, and she’s giving up magic after almost constant use. She’d going to need all the support we can give her. Okay?”

Dawn looked at her sister, wondering for a moment if she had lost her mind. But she’d read too much drug addiction literature, and she’d “known” Willow for too long to give up on her, either. “Okay,” she replied sullenly. “But I’m gonna give her the silent treatment a while longer.”

Buffy nodded. “Only fair,” she agreed. “I’ll go get her and we’ll meet you downstairs.”

She wandered to her mom’s, now Willow’s, room, peeking inside to see the bed empty. “Willow?”

The redhead came out of the little private bathroom, holding a washcloth to her mouth. Her eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. Her normally neat hair was matted and straggly. She had a sheen of perspiration on her skin, her hands shaking.

“Oh, God, Will.” Buffy gently embraced her friend.

Willow brought trembling arms up to return the hug, tears beginning to quietly stream down her pale face.

“I was going to ask if you want breakfast,” Buffy started, “but I don’t think you could hold anything down right now.”

Willow just nodded mutely. She was afraid she would become hysterical again if she tried to say anything, let alone apologize.

Buffy pulled back and used the washcloth to clean her friend’s face. “Think you could deal with tea and a little honey?”

“I think so,” she replied in a whisper thick with tears and pain.

“Dawn’s downstairs, too,” Buffy warned. “Still not that big on the talky.”

Willow nodded, eyes brimming with tears again.

Buffy put a comforting, supportive arm around her as they went to the staircase. Dawn had busied herself by (literally) single-handedly setting out the ingredients for chocolate waffles with marshmallows. Seeing the marshmallows made both Summers girls think of Spike, one wondering how he was, the other wondering how she was going to avoid him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

At about noon, Tara decided that she had to see her girl. She rang the doorbell and smiled at Dawn when she answered. “Hey, Dawnie.”

Dawn hugged the blond witch with her good arm. “Willow’s inside.” She had watched Willow as she’d eaten, and couldn’t help but feel for her through her anger.

Tara smiled her thanks, and stepped to the threshold of the dining room. She watched silently as Buffy poured Willow another cup of tea, gasping at the redhead’s haggard appearance.

Willow and Buffy looked up at the sharp intake of breath. Willow looked a little better than she had that morning, and she had managed to keep her tea down, but her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. Now, as she saw her girlfriend standing in the doorway, she felt fresh tears come upon her. “Tara,” she choked out.

She flew to Willow’s side, hugging her tightly as she cried and said “I’m sorry” again and again into her hair. Buffy wisely backed out, taking the teapot and Dawn with her.

“I’m here,” Tara whispered as they rocked together. “I’m right here.” _Just hang on, love_ , she thought. _You’ll be back soon_.

She suddenly felt a shiver run down her back, as if a pair of eyes was upon her. Willow hadn’t noticed, as she was shivering enough for both of them.

The specter smiled as it watched over them, their love almost tangible as it radiated from them. It knew the blonde could sense it, so strong was her magical core, but she had far more control than her lover at the moment.

The time would come to reveal itself, but not yet.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Tara arrived at Spike’s crypt just after four. She found him slouched down in his chair, snoring faintly. Books and papers had been strewn all over his lap and the floor in front of his chair. She smiled at the picture, regretting she had to ruin it.

She shook his shoulder gently. “Spike?”

The vampire started awake, blinking until he could focus on the witch’s features. “Hey,” he greeted, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“You _did_ say fourish,” Tara said.

“Yeah, I did, and I found a few leads.” Spike handed her the notebook. “But, ’s up t’ you what we do. I’m not all that up on the mojo.”

Tara looked over the notes made in his flowing, almost-Victorian script. “This is good, Spike. I mean, really good. This ‘ritual of light’ looks like our best bet to counteract the influence.”

Spike grinned. “Great. When d’ we start?”

She gave him a funny look. “‘We’?”

“C’mon.” He tapped the pages, giving her a look of his own. “Y’ expect me t’ go this far ’n’ not all the way? Not my style.”

A small smile quirked her lips. “Willow and Buffy will really—”

He closed his hands around hers suddenly, not tight enough to hurt either of them but enough to get her attention. “No they won’t, ’cause they won’t know. I don’t want you tellin’ them.”

“Why not?”

He let go of her hands and ran one through his hair, spiking up the platinum locks. “Don’t want anyone t’ see this as me tryin’ t’ get in the Slayer’s good graces. Bad enough that whole ‘musical from hell’ happened, then the forgetting thing on _top_ of the Watcher leavin’. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

His emotions might as well have been a pretzel for all his face was twisting with them. The “ritual of light” he’d found was only half the solution; the other half was in Willow’s hands. The longer she took to recover, the more strain she’d put on herself and Buffy and Dawn. He couldn’t bear to see any of that happen.

Tara decided to take pity on him. “Okay, I won’t tell them. And…there’s something else.”

Spike looked at her expectantly.

“When I went to see Willow today, I felt a—a presence in the house. Like a ghost or spirit.”

“Think it might be the kind t’ cause trouble?”

“No. I couldn’t feel any malevolence from it. It may be a Casper.”

“A Casper?”

“A friendly ghost. Usually they don’t hang around unless they have unfinished business or a message to deliver.”

“But this ghostie’s not a threat t’ the Slayer, or Nibblet?”

She shook her head. “As far as I can tell, no.”

“Then Red’s first priority. We’ll find something for the ghost later. Now, how ’bout the ritual? It’s gotta be done in daylight, right?”

“Yeah, and at least near or right inside Rack’s place.” She looked over the listed ingredients, then glanced at her watch. “I have half of this at my place; the rest I’ll have to get at the shop. We have another few hours of day. I’ll be an hour.”

Spike nodded. “I’ll be here.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Ninety minutes later, Tara was walking downtown with Spike alongside in the shadows, a blanket over one arm for emergencies.

 _This has got to work_ , they were both thinking.

Tara suddenly stopped and backtracked a few steps, feeling heat brush her cheek. “Spike, it’s here!” She reached into her pocket, her hand closing around the crushed herbs in their baggie. “You with me?”

He threw the blanket over his head. “Right behind y’.”

If anyone had looked in their direction, they would have seen her disappear from the street, followed by a blanket-draped figure darting from the shadows.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Tara and Spike materialized in the waiting room, where three people waited on a pair of sofas.

“You wait your turn,” a scarecrowish brown-haired guy barked. He approached them with menace in his eyes. “You don’t just jump the line, or you regret it.”

Spike flashed his game face. “Back off, mate, or _you’ll_ regret it,” he snarled.

The scarecrow quickly retreated, both hands up in surrender. “Hey, man, didn’t know you were with us. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry, all right,” Spike muttered under his non-breath, his human face coming back. He and Tara went to a corner of the room, as far from any casual observers as they could be. “How long d’ we have?”

“Hard to say. When Dawn was here, she says Willow was with Rack for at least two hours.”

“Hang on.” Spike strode into the scarecrow’s proximity and offered a cig from his pack. Tara watched as they spoke quietly for a moment and Spike returned to her side. “Rack let someone else in ’bout half an hour ago,” he reported. “So we’ve got at least an hour t’ get this done.”

She sighed. “Not good. We can’t do the ritual while he’s got someone. The shock of suddenly having the magic yanked away could kill them.”

“Damn.” The vamp cocked a brow. “So, we wait?”

The witch nodded. “We wait.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

An hour later, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Tara’s older brother came stumbling out the door to the inner “office”, his eyes almost black with dark magic. Right behind him was a man with wildly tousled dark hair and a crooked, ingratiating smile. His dark eyes found Spike sitting on the sofa and pointed. “You next.”

Spike put an arm around Tara, purposely making it look possessive. “I go, she goes.”

Rack grinned. “Two pair in one week.” He stepped aside to allow them in. “I am a lucky man.”

The two looked at each other, knowing the first pair had been Willow and Amy Madison. They went in.

The warlock followed them and closed the door behind. “Well, wondered when you’d come to see me, Spike,” he commented in his deep voice. “What’s your pleasure? Something to excite your woman?”

Spike scowled for two reasons: that Rack thought Tara was his girl, and the insult that he needed a spell or potion to excite a woman. He bit back a reply and motioned to Tara. “’S your show, pet.”

The witch stepped forward just as Rack reached for her. Tara then blew a handful of herbs in his face, sending him reeling back and coughing. “You’re not here for a fix,” he hacked.

“You’re right; I’m not.” Tara fell to her knees as Spike stepped between them to protect her.

_“I call upon you, spirits and gods of light and day_

_And beg you to come to my aid.”_

Rack’s eyes widened as he recognized the incantation. It had been too long since he needed to defend himself, and he hesitated, filing through his spell memories. Before he could recall one, Spike fired a right cross, breaking his nose. Spike smiled. No pain.

“You been at this too long, mate.” He now smiled with elongated fangs. “You don’t even qualify as human.” He went at the disoriented Rack, whose memory recall wasn’t helped by the continuous punches of a highly repressed vampire.

_“Apollo and Ra, gods of the sun_

_Shine your rays to banish the night_

_Prometheus and Hephaestos, guardians of fire_

_Cast your light to chase away the shadows._

_Your supplicant implores you_

_Dispel the darkness_

_And may the power of Light reign!”_

The walls and ceiling of the hidden place began to dissipate. Spike quickly threw his blanket over his head, darting back to the safe shadows of the alleyway through the now-nonexistent walls. Rack’s customers found themselves in an empty dead-end street, confused. Almost immediately, they were nauseous; two even retched in the street.

The warlock was lost as his place of business disappeared before his eyes—not to mention his rapidly developing migraine. His gaze drew down on Tara as she stood. His eyes widened as he realized something. “You’re Strawberry’s girl.”

“Her name is Willow!” Tara snapped, her eyes glowing dangerously. “You’re done here. Get out of town, or I’ll make _sure_ that you pay.”

Rack had only been afraid a few times since he’d come into his powers. This was one. Like any creature of darkness, he was powerless in full daylight; and he couldn’t take refuge in the same alley as Spike. “Okay, I’m gone.”

Tara brought a small piece of rose quartz from her pocket, which leapt from her hand and disappeared into his chest. A larger rough amethyst was in her other hand. “Tracking crystals,” she said. “I don’t trust you. I’ll know when you’re outside the city limits and beyond. There’s enough light inside both crystals to bind your powers for a good two weeks.” She glared at him long and hard for several seconds. “Go.”

He was gone.

Tara went to Spike. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Bit singed ’round the edges but not too bad.” He looked at her with concern as she sagged against the wall opposite him, her eyes closing. “ _You_ okay, Wicca?”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “Drained me; never really went in for a big spell like that before. Not alone.”

He leaned against the wall beside her. “You all right t’ go home?”

“Think so.” Her rich brown eyes opened as she smiled shyly. “Wouldn’t say no to some help, though.”

He returned the smile, draped the blanket over himself, and put a gentle arm around her, leading her away. “Still can’t believe y’ let him go. I could’ve done him in for y’.”

Tara smiled knowingly. “What makes you think I let him get away?”

It would be later that day that the California Highway Patrol would find the body of a dark-haired man just inside the town limits of Sunnydale. The only clue in their care as to who he once had been would be a rough-hewn rose quartz lying beside the prone figure.

Tara had not been lying when she said that the crystal had been imbued with light magic. What she had not said was the light was powerful enough to eradicate all of the darkness inside him. What she could not know was Rack’s life force had become so intricately intertwined with the darkness that neither could withstand the light’s power.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Virtually at the same time as Spike and Tara were walking away, Willow was purging the last of the toxins in her system, as well as the pancakes she had managed to nibble earlier.

Buffy leaned over her, holding her hair back as she leaned over the toilet. “You all right, Will?”

Willow coughed, spat into the toilet, and flushed. “I think I’ve got something other than withdrawal.” She smiled weakly. “Just what I need: a cold to go with everything else.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s back to tea and water for you.”

Willow nodded, then frowned. “But…”

“But?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s like something’s lifted from me and I can breathe again.”

Buffy smiled. “C’mon, let’s get you that water.”

Willow had felt surprisingly light for the next few days, her cravings for magic so mild she pushed them away with just a little effort. When Tara came to visit again, almost a week after the last, the blonde vowed no more magic in her lover’s presence unless absolutely necessary. The redhead decided to spend the weekend with her parents, leaving Tara to hedge the ghost question with Buffy and Dawn.

“We have a ghost in the house?” Dawn grinned. “Cool.”

“We’ve had a ghost for _how long_ , that’s what I want to know,” Buffy said.

“Well, it could’ve moved in after I moved out. I sensed it’s presence last week.” Buffy glanced at her. “I didn’t tell you because it’s not a baddy. From what I could tell, it’s completely evil-free.”

“What is it doing here?” Dawn asked, curiosity in her voice. “Why is it haunting _us_?”

Tara shook her head. “I’m not really sure, Dawn. But, there is a way to find out.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Okay, what are we doing?” Buffy, Dawn, and Tara sat in a circle on the living room floor, a small bier of herbs set ablaze in the center and the new coffee table shoved to one side. The Slayer half-expected objects to fly around the room as proof of a ghost in the house. But this wasn’t a séance.

“A manifestation ritual,” Tara answered.

Buffy nodded, but her eyes plainly said she didn’t understand.

“Right now, all I can really do is sense if he or she is in the house. The ritual is designed to give the spirit cohesion, able to communicate with us, and we’ll actually see who it is we’re talking to.”

She nodded again, this time in understanding and gratitude. “And you’re sure Dawn can participate?”

Tara grinned. “Completely kid-sister-friendly.” The blond witch double-checked the ingredients and nodded in satisfaction. “We’re set.” She held out her hands, which were taken by Buffy and Dawn sitting on either side of her. They, in turn, took each other’s hands to complete the circle.

Buffy noticed Dawn’s fingers trembling from inside the cast and shot her a concerned look. “You okay?”

Dawn smiled a little nervously. “I keep begging you to let me into this all the time. Now I’m getting my wish.”

Tara gave the Key’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not big, Dawnie. Just keep your mind quiet and concentrate.” She took a breath and began, her voice strong and strident.

_“I call upon you, Hades, god of the underworld.”_

Buffy continued:

_“I call upon you, Osiris, overlord of the dead.”_

Dawn added her voice, no longer nervous:

_“I call upon you, Pluto, god of those who have passed beyond.”_

The three voices melded together:

_“We beseech thee now, powers three,_

_Of one gone before, here and now,_

_Let us hear and see.”_

Silence reigned for thirty seconds. No sound, nothing.

Buffy opened an eye to peek around. “Did it work?”

Dawn and Tara opened their eyes, Tara’s face screwing up in disappointment. “The manifestation should have been before our eyes. Something must have gone wrong.”

“Well, maybe whoever it is doesn’t want to rise up like—” Dawn cut off her suggestion, her blue eyes widening, her jaw dropping.

Buffy looked at her sister’s statement. “Dawn?”

She could only point outside the circle, behind her sister and her friend. They turned to see that the ritual _had_ worked after all.

A semi-transparent figure sat on the sofa nearby. He wore a brown tweed suit of a 19th-century style, a small notebook clutched in a slender hand. A pair of gold-framed spectacles perched on his nose. Longish, dark-blond hair fell almost into his eyes in curls. His smile was small and shy. “Greetings to you all,” he said in a British accent.

Buffy felt tears spring to her eyes. Whoever this man had been in life, he reminded her of Giles.

“Are you the ghost I felt before?” Tara asked.

The figure nodded. “William Carfax, at your service, Miss Maclay. Miss Buffy. Miss Dawn.”

Despite knowing that he’d been around a while, Buffy blinked and asked, “You know us?”

William’s smile broadened, just a bit. “Yes, Miss Buffy, and you all know me.” He paused and amended, “Well, a small part of me, at any rate.”

There was, in fact, something about this soft-spoken ghost that seemed familiar.

“You all know my vampire counterpart,” William continued. “He’s chosen to go by the name of Spike. Thoroughly dislikeable, I understand.”

“ _Spike?!_ ” they all exploded in unison. Tara focused more on William’s features, now recognizing the high, sharp cheekbones and dark blue, expressive eyes that she had come to know, _really_ know, the week before.

“Then—you’re William?” Dawn asked at last. “You’re who Spike was before he was vamped?”

The specter nodded. “Just so. I’ve been, as you say, ‘hanging around’ Spike for the last 122 years. Sort of like what you might call a…blood and gore film.”

Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile. “Ooh, Spike has some explaining to do.” When the others gave her a funny look, she explained. “I once asked Spike to tell me how he’d killed the other Slayers.” She looked apologetically at Dawn. “That was the night before Mom went into the hospital. I asked Spike if he’d always been so annoying. He told me that he’d ‘always been bad’.” She shot a meaningful look at the man Spike once was. “I’m seeing a completely different story here.”

William seemed to blush, even though he no longer had the blood for it. “My apologies for that, Miss Buffy. He had mistakenly thought to impress you, when in fact it had the opposite effect.” He smiled at her tenderly. “He loves you, you know.”

Buffy started, thinking that William had actually witnessed her and Spike bringing the house down.

“I know his heart, unbeating though it is,” he continued. “If it could beat, it would do so only for you. He also kept his promise to you. He watched and protected Dawn during…your passing…even though he believed he failed you.”

“Failed her?” Dawn asked in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

William gave the illusion of a deep sigh. “From that night, for 147 days, he blamed himself for your sister’s death. He feels that if he’d fought harder to keep that creature from you, she would not have given her life in your place.”

“That’s not true!” Dawn cried. “He was still hurting for all that time, still healing from his wounds. He did the best he could.”

“Too true, Miss Dawn,” William conceded, “but that didn’t stop his guilt. The only time he felt truly sorry in over a hundred years.”

Silence fell over them until William noticed how intently Buffy was studying him. “Something, Miss Buffy?”

“Yeah, something,” she replied. “I’m still trying to figure how Spike came from…you.”

He smiled as if expecting the question. “Ah, you wish to know how William Carfax became Spike?” At Buffy’s nod, he carefully approached her and knelt. “I can show you, rather than tell you.”

“Show me? How?”

“Just allow your mind to become a blank page, and let me write the scene. I promise, it will not hurt.”

Buffy closed her eyes and breathed slowly, emptying her mind of thought so William could do…whatever he was going to do.

William’s hand gently connected with her temple, and allowed his memories to invade her mind. She couldn’t help but gasp at the sights and sounds in her head, seen from a different pair of eyes. She saw everything from that night: “William the Bloody”, Cecily looking flustered at William’s clumsy proposal, and the crushing rejection at her final cruel words to him. _“You’re beneath me.”_

The three words echoed again and again inside her, alternating between Cecily’s voice and her own, and tears spilled down her cheeks at the emotions.

Dawn and Tara watched as Buffy cried silently and William drew his hand away quickly. “I apologize, Miss Buffy. I had forgotten how strongly I had felt back then, before Drusilla had found me in that alley.”

Her watery green eyes opened to look at him, her own apology clear in the glance. He smiled, wordlessly accepting it. “And there is another way Spike has shown his love for you. It was just last week, in fact.”

Tara let out a sound of protest, which William smiled at. “Spike may have sworn you to secrecy, Miss Maclay, but I am under no such constraint.” He proceeded to lay out the entire story, adding that he had aided Spike in finding the proper books to facilitate dispensing with Rack. The blond witch blushed a deep pink at William’s retelling of her adventure, especially his poetic descriptions of her power in dealing with the black arts dealer. “She was a veritable Athena against such a predator as he.”

Buffy’s eyebrows lifted, wiping away her tears. She heard Spike’s voice, but the accent and words were so new to her ears. Again, she felt horrible; she had treated the supposed monster even worse than Cecily the snob had treated the man. She was still treating him that way, still acting the way she had been before she had died for the second time.

She couldn’t repair the hurt inflicted over a century before, but she could repair the more recent one.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Spike hit the Bronze that night. After not seeing Buffy for a week, he hoped to at least catch a glimpse of her. He truly didn’t remember the last time he had seen her dance, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d get a stake in the heart if she found him outside the house.

He spotted a vampire female picking up a hapless teenage boy, shaking his head. _Th_ _ey don’t learn, do they?_ he thought, grinning. He followed them to the back alley, tapped her, on the shoulder and smiled as she turned.

“’Ello, lovey. Out for a stroll?”

She looked him up and down, sniffing at him. “Get lost, he’s mine.”

The kid looked from one vamp to the other. “She’s right, man. I’m not into that.”

“Oh, well, I am.” Spike pulled out a stake like one would a switchblade, and staked the vampire before she could blink.

_That was no fun. Bint didn’t even fight back._

“Bit of a tip for y’, mate,” he said to the bewildered boy. “Try t’ avoid the pale birds.” He walked away, ready to finish his beer, patrol, go home, and see Buffy.

Not necessarily in that order.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Afterward, with no sign of her on patrol, he headed back to his place. He paused to look over a recently placed angel sculpted from granite. One hand was under its cheek, a tiny mysterious smile on its face, as if saying, “I know something and it’s a secret.”

The angel could have been Dawn or Tara.

At his crypt, he went straight for his fridge and downed a pint of O-neg, cold, and rinsed out his mouth with a water bottle left over from when Dawn would visit. He put both away, suddenly feeling as though ice clutched at his heart. He wanted to see her, touch her, so badly, but he would not go to her. It had taken both of them to bring that house down, no matter how many times she proclaimed that she hated him.

His throat convulsed as he swallowed back a wall of tears. He loved Buffy so much; why did she refuse to see that?

Spike sullenly loped down the stairs to the lower level…and caught that oh-so-familiar scent.

His eyes widened at the figure on his bed. Her hair was loose, but away from her face. He could smell the grass and dirt and vamp dust from her patrol.

Buffy gave him a little smile. It reminded him of the smile carved into the face of that stone angel he’d seen before.

He cleared his throat and mustered a smile. “Made yourself comfortable, I see,” he started. “How’re Nibblet and Red?”

“Dawn doesn’t have much pain anymore,” she replied. “Willow hasn’t had any strong cravings for magic the last few days now.” She crept closer to him on her knees. “And from what I understand, you had something to do with that.”

Spike felt his eyes widen again. “The Wicca _told_ you?! An’ after I made ’er promise—”

“Tara didn’t tell me, Spike,” she interrupted.

He looked at her with curiosity. “Then how did you—? Unless _Rack_ told y’, which I doubt.”

She shook her head, and took his face in both hands. “Thank you. And…I’m sorry.” Her smile suddenly dropped as she bit her lip nervously. “You were there for everyone while I was gone. And you’ve been here for mean since I came back. I should never’ve…” A hot tear snaked down her cheek, and she felt a cool hand brush it away.

“I _did_ feel something that night,” she admitted, “and it scared me. I never meant any of the things I said to you. I didn’t want to fall in love with another vampire.” She finally raised her eyes to meet his. “You know what Angel said, when he broke up with me?”

Spike shook his head, letting her talk.

“He said that I deserved a normal boy, someone I could walk in the sun with.”

He snorted derisively at his sire’s words. “He was a prancing idiot, and so was that boy who used you, and Captain Cardboard for goin’ t’ vamp whores when he had you.” He gently cupped her face in his slender hands. “Sorry, luv, but you _are_ the Slayer, and ‘normal’ isn’t what you deal with every night.” His thumbs lightly ran over her cheeks, feeling the dried remnants of many tears. “And I was an idiot, too, for saying those things to you.” He drew her face closer to his until their noses touched. “I don’t how or why I can hit you now, but I don’t want to. You’re not wrong. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

His words in her defense touched her heart, the one she had tried to close off so many times to keep from getting hurt. His verbal self-flagellation sneaked through a crack in the bricks around her emotions. Her borrowed memories flooded her mind again as she saw a piece of the man still inside him.

Then she said the words that he would cherish for the rest of his unlife. “Spike, make love to me, please.”

His blue eyes lit up and he closed the last half-inch between them, meeting her lips with his in a slow, lingering, loving kiss. He crawled up onto the bed with her, his hands running through her hair.

They slowly undressed each other. Spike almost lost control as he felt her hands on his chest, but he was determined to make love to her, not shag her. When Buffy was completely bare from the waist up, he pulled back a moment to admire her soft, perfect form. She blushed a deep pink and tried to cover herself, but Spike simply brought her body to his, cooling her burning cheeks with kisses.

Where their first time was “rough and tumble”, violence and need, this was slow and sweetly intimate. They explored and rediscovered each other’s bodies, especially those places that caused sighs and moans. When she trembled and thrashed in his arms, he reached between their bodies and touched her, prolonging her pleasure while taking his.

He gently pulled away and rolled them over on the bed. They laid holding each other, both still trembling with release. Buffy could feel his satisfied purr resonating through his body. She smiled and placed her ear against his chest to listen to the sound. “Spike?”

“Hmmm?”

She lifted her head to look at him. Although he wouldn’t admit it, she still saw traces of the sweet, poetic soul he’d once had. “Would you—?”

“Name it, luv, and it’s done.”

She grinned. “Will you reconstruct some of your ‘bloody awful’ poetry for me?”

Spike’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. _“What??”_

And somewhere outside the hearing range of vampire and Slayer, the soul of William “the Bloody” Carfax laughed. _Maybe Spike will actually get an unlife._

The End


End file.
